


Are You There Dean Winchester? It's Me, God.

by outofminutes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-ish, Gen, God - Freeform, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-01-20 19:44:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1523300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outofminutes/pseuds/outofminutes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if God wasn't quite so absent in the lives of the Winchesters? What if God chose to talk to the Righteous Man but made it so Dean couldn't talk about their conversations? </p>
<p>Set sometime in Season 5 ish. After Cas has taken the amulet to try and find God but may diverge from canon after that point in order to set up the scenarios in my head. Meaning, the happenings of Season 5 are fluid at to when and how they happen in this fic, but I will hit many of the big ones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Are You There Dean Winchester? It's Me, God.

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic that I am publishing. It's got several chapters already and I hope to keep it going. It's something I write in-between my others fics when I need inspiration and a break. I like this one because it sort of stands on its own, the chapters are linked but at the same time there may never be a true ending point. I am doing it as multiple chapters because I like to read on my Kindle (MOBI download) and I prefer it when authors do the multi-chapter so I can download it all together versus the 'verse' type scenario. So, best to subscribe if you want to keep reading as this one will be regular in the beginning and then a bit sporadic since I have signed up for the DeanCas Big Bang!! and will need to turn my focus to that.

** Chapter 1 - Are You There Dean Winchester? It’s Me, God. **

 

Dean tossed his bag on to the floor and collapsed onto the bed. It had been a few days since he and Sam had split and he still hadn’t found his equilibrium. He was reading the papers, scouring the internet and following sources. Bobby’s situation lingered in the back of his mind and he wasn’t sure there was enough alcohol in all of Kansas for him to get a good night’s sleep.

 

He debated a shower but instead changed into a fresh shirt, ran water over his face and hair and headed out to the nearest bar. All he needed was a good burger, a few beers and maybe a quick lay and he’d be back on his normal track.

 

As he stepped out of the Impala he gave his shoulders a roll and slid his confident, slightly mischievous, smile into place and stepped into the bar.  It was like many others he had come across in his travels: a little worn, a little sad but still offering refuge to those that needed it.

 

Sliding onto a bar stool toward the back of the bar he glanced around, eyes lighting on a few prospects. He decided to have a meal and a beer or two before deciding. Plus, he liked to get the lay of the land before he made a move.

 

The bartender slid across the draft beer and he took a deep swallow and almost instantly relaxed. He knew he didn’t need the alcohol to function, to score, or to be good at his job. But sometimes he needed it to blur the edges so that he could believe his own bullshit.

 

Dean realized he blended into the bar quite easily. Most patrons, male or female, were in jeans and casual shirts. It was the hard working, blue collar crew that mostly frequented this bar. That made him feel right at home. They didn’t need to know about the gun tucked at the small of his back, well hidden under his unbuttoned plaid shirt or the demon knife tucked near his waist on the left for an easy cross draw. He would have felt more secure with a jacket but it was too warm for that to be inconspicuous.

 

He was halfway through his burger and second beer when he noticed her. She appeared perfectly across the bar in his sight path. His gaze had slid over her as he bit into the burger again but then slid back. It wasn’t that she wasn’t pretty, she was, but she wasn’t his usual type.

 

Under the bar lights, her hair appeared to glint slightly copper, cut in a pixie style that famed her delicate face with its high cheekbones and slightly thin lips. He couldn’t tell the color of her eyes, but appreciated the way she cocked her head and smiled at the bartender as she placed her order. He guessed something girly was coming her way and was mildly surprised by the glass of red wine. He’d have pegged her for white, or some frou-frou martini, which meant he slight misread her and added to his interest. Turning back to his burger –it was a damn good burger—he decided he might try and chat her up when he was done.

 

To his surprise, when he next raised his glass to his lips, she was there on his right. He started but tried to cover it with a deep swallow of the last of his beer. He watched her signal the bartender for him before turning on the stool and looking at him directly.

 

“Hello soldier.” Her voice wasn’t too deep but held the gentle rasp that some women did which hinted at whiskey and late nights.

 

Dean scoffed and quirked a grin. “I’m no soldier.”

 

Her half smile didn’t fade and her eyes raked him down and slowly back up again. Slender fingers played around the stem of her wine glass. “Soldiers come in all shapes and sizes.”

 

Wiping his mouth roughly with a napkin, Dean decided this flirtation wasn’t to his liking. Normally being considered a soldier would be something he could work with but tonight he wasn’t feeling it. Not with the loss of Sam and the holy mission that Cas had set upon himself.

 

“Lady, I’m just a man. No hero complex here,” he bit back sharply.

 

Her softly painted pink lips pursed and she glanced down at the bar. Looking her over, he realized she wasn’t at all what he expected. On the small side, maybe five feet tall, with reddish brown hair in a pixie cut and a slender figure. He liked his women with long hair, big eyes and lush lips. Not that he would turn her down, he liked women in all their forms and shapes, and delighted in learning each woman’s unique secret. Even if just for a night.

 

It was his strong reaction that he found odd. Lisa was hotter. Hell, Jo had been too. But there was something here. Something in the set of her shoulders and hips, in the way she held herself on the bar stool. The way her fingers wrapped around the stem of her wine glass. She was both seduction and comfort; feast and famine; lust and love.

 

When her eyes met his again he fought not to jump up and run away. His hand tightened on his fresh pint glass and he thought he saw her smile tighten around the edges. Her eyes were a shade of gray-blue-green that he had never seen before. That wasn’t what unsettled him. It was the depth he could see in them. It was like looking into Castiel’s eyes plus one hundred fold.

 

“Now you have gone and scared yourself,” she breathed.

 

Dean licked his lips and drank his beer, steeling himself. “Nah. Just a new town and new faces.”

 

Her head cocked gently, bangs framing her eyes. “Am I really a new face?”

 

His mouth was suddenly dry and his palm itched for a weapon. No one in the bar was looking at them strangely or attempting to intervene. The bartender even slid by with a fresh glass of wine for her and a nod at him regarding the next beer. His heart was in his throat and his head swam with too many possible scenarios. He had no back up and no way out.

 

Before he could move, she rested a small hand on his forearm. His plaid shirt was rolled up so her hand landed on his flesh and he felt almost instantly calm. Years of honed skill had him fighting that sensation because he knew it was false. His eyes dropped to her hand, expecting to see some sort of monster vaguely superimposed but all he saw was cream colored skin that belonged to any woman with her natural hair color.

 

Her sigh had his eyes snapping up to hers. “Are you really going to be that hard to talk to?”

 

Dean opened his mouth and then shut it. Normally brash and reckless, willing to brazen himself out any situation, he found himself wishing for Sam’s logic or Castiel’s unfazed assessment. He had neither and he felt more naked than he had since Castiel took his amulet.

 

He noticed the slight flare in her eyes and the subtle softening of her lips. “Ah, I think I see now. You’re missing someone.”

 

Unconsciously he licked his lips and decided to follow along. Sometimes discretion is really the better part of valor. It wasn’t a cliché he usually hung his hat on, but he was occasionally known to be uncharacteristically smart.

 

Shooting her a trademark Winchester grin and wink, he sipped his beer. “Maybe. But not enough to tell you to get moving.”

 

Her smile remained soft as she sipped her wine. “Do you really want to play this game, Dean Winchester?”  


Instantly alert his body moved in position to reach his best weapons but not in such a way that she would be alerted to them. His green eyes danced on the hard edge of frosty and he was surprised to see her not flinch.

 

Leaning back, she took her wine glass and shot him an assessing glance. “Let me see, shapeshifer, skinwalker, or demon. Top three in your thoughts. None of the above, love.”

 

With bared teeth he leaned in closer. “We haven’t yet reached the stage of pet names, babe. But if you want me to call ‘em like I see ‘em—“

 

“You’ve never seen me before,” she cut in. Her eyes were clear and bright as she swirled her wine. “You won’t believe my words but I can prove it.”

 

“I’ve heard that before,” he challenged.

 

“Try me,” she countered in a soft voice.

 

Dean kept eye contact for a bit and then stood up. He reached in his pocket and threw down enough cash for his tab and a generous tip. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ve had better.”

 

He brushed by her and out the door, not able to take a full breath until he was outside. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to feel the alcohol, the churning in his gut that had nothing to do with alcohol, and oddly wondered where Castiel was.

 

“Son of a bitch!” he bellowed as someone appeared before him.

 

Though he expected it to be Castiel, since the angel had that much understanding of personal space, he was disturbed to find it was the woman from the bar. She barely reached his shoulder and yet he considered her as dangerous as any other creature they had hunted. Her features were soft now, concerned, but it was as if she didn’t truly grasp the emotions she was trying to convey.

 

Groaning, and weary of the game, Dean ran a hand over the back of his hair. “What are you?”

 

The expression that crossed her face chilled him and had him reaching surreptitiously for the knife. “You have exceeded my expectations. Not that I wasn’t warned otherwise.” She waved hand in front of her face. “Fine. Let’s meet on a field more comfortable to you.”

 

Dean had a moment of dizziness and when he shook his head, he came up with the knife in one hand, other on the gun and faced nothing but a blank wall. “Son of a bitch,” he breathed, slowly crouching and making a sweep. It was a warehouse, an abandoned one, similar to the one he first met Castiel in.

 

“Exact one, actually,” a voice offered.

 

He spun, still keeping his body low. And there she was, hip resting on a table in the warehouse, fingers playing over some blueprints left there.

 

“You’re not a demon,” he said, certain.

 

She snorted. “Certainly not. Try again.”

 

Dean realized one knee began to ache but he told himself he could keep this position as long as necessary. Low and tight was a good position for being attacked, and for attacking, and he could hold it as long as necessary.

 

A soft, long sigh drew his attention. She sat up straight, shifting her hips to rest fully on the table and leaning back on her hands. “I mean you no harm.”

 

“Says every nefarious creature I have ever come across.”

 

Her smile was genuine. “Such cynicism in one so young.”

 

Finding a small footing, he stood, crossing his arms over his chest and knife still within an easy strike move. “I’ve never been young.”

 

Slowly, she nodded. He noticed the way the fringy bangs of her pixie cut slid over her forehead and framed her eyes. The eyes kept drawing him and he kept trying to look away, realizing the draw.

 

“True enough. You were forced to be a father, a man, well before your years.”

 

Dean nodded at the acknowledgement in the tone. “I did ok.”

 

“More than ok, Dean,” she countered. “Look at you. Look at Sam.”

 

He was shaking his head before she was done speaking, not sure why he was responding to her at all. “No. Sam’s in the life. If I had done it right, he would be out of the life.”

 

His eyes tracked the subtle play of light against her cheek and shine of her hair as she cocked her head. “You sure? Destiny is what it is.”

 

He pushed away from the table behind him and began to pace. “You know, fuck that. Some of us can get out.”

 

She slid a hand over her mouth but failed to hide her smile. “Castiel said that you were stubborn. I wasn’t sure I believed him until now.”

 

Stiffening he blanked his stare. “You’ve talked to Cas?”

 

She hopped down from the table and ran her hand lightly over it as she walked around. “Talked? No, I haven’t talk to him. But he thinks loudly.”

 

Dean’s knees turned to jelly and he cursed as he reached for something to hold onto. His mind whirled and flashes of their last few talks flitting through his brain. It wasn’t possible. Was it?

 

He had to cough before he could speak. “You aren’t an angel.”

 

The gentle pixie turned and leaned her elbows against the table behind her, ignoring the grease, sawdust and grime. “No, I’m not an angel.”

 

Clenching his eyes, Dean swallowed roughly but raised his eyes to hers. “You’re not a demon and you’re not an angel.”

 

“Say it, Dean,” she whispered loudly.

 

He shook his head, knuckles white, fighting not to go to his knees. “Can’t be,” he rasped.

 

One eyebrow shot up. “Can’t it?”

 

Closing his eyes, he sank to his knees, feeling the explosion of light around him. When it receded he put one hand in front to push himself up as far as he could go, realizing it still put him in a supplicant and subordinate position. It wasn’t his nature, however, he had been to Hell, he had seen life without Sam and he was willing to beg if necessary.

 

“Begging is not required, Dean. All I ask is that you look upon me and name me.”

 

The whimper that escaped him was feral and full of both longing and fear. He actually crawled two steps forward before he could stop himself. When he did, it was to find tears burning tracks down his cheeks and every nerve ending in his body alight with the fire of knowledge.

 

He pressed his forehead to the cool concrete. He didn’t want to do it, didn’t want to say it. The reality was too complex and too simple. It didn’t mean an easy end for the Winchester brothers. Or for Castiel. The heavenly angel that had rebelled for the sake of a man. How could he say it?

 

Her cool fingers tilted his chin slightly higher, his back stretched to the farthest limit of his tendons. And yet her touch was soft, warm and kind. He felt a sob break within him and a tear slid out of the corner of his eye.

 

And it was freedom. The release of one word upon his lips. The shudder that went through his entire body from his head to his toes. The certainly that came with speaking the unspeakable.

 

“God,” Dean breathed reverently, his green eyes wide and sated. “You are God.”


	2. Breathe In And Breathe Out

** Chapter 2 –Breathe In and Breathe Out **

 

Her clap was slow and meant to be sarcastic. “You figured me out. Bravo.”

 

Dean’s eyes narrowed and he took a half step forward in natural instinct. “Screw you.”

 

“Excuse me?” Her tone was frosty enough to set Antarctica into winter.

 

Breathing into his bravado, Dean stepped back and leaned against the rotting table. He’d bluffed before and been bluffed before so this was not new territory. Putting on his cockiest grin, he tossed her his best go-to-hell look.

 

“How do I know you are really God?”

 

Her shrug was casual. “You don’t really. But I need to talk to you.”

 

“Dude, Cas took my amulet and has been searching for you. Shouldn’t you talk to him?” he demanded.

 

The look in her eye softened. “Castiel is a good soldier. Has always been.” Her eyes turned bright. “He does seem to like you, though.”

 

“Irrelevant,” Dean countered to her last statement.

 

Her legs swung insolently under the table as if she were both amused and frustrated by his response. Dean didn’t know his place, his purpose, here. That was something he had always known. Yes, he was an instinctive hunter, full of grace and guts, but Sam was the logical brain parts and Castiel was his rock of unshakable faith. He currently had neither and his ragged edges were showing.

 

It struck him then, the incongruity of it all. Here he was, the unworthy Righteous Man who wore the mantle of debauchery with abandon. And there was the loyal soldier, dutifully following his orders, using every available tool to find his general, failing and frustrated, but never giving up.

 

A growl worked its way up this throat and she looked up at him as if he had finally done something interesting. Those mixed eyes were steady and the light from within them flared slightly. Every nerve ending in his body began to vibrate.

 

“What right do you have to ignore him?” He slashed a hand through the air. “Cas has stayed true to your word, followed your orders, believed in you when all others failed.”

 

“Even you.”

 

“Especially me,” he countered. “I have doubted your existence for years. I have good reason to. But not Cas.” Dean dropped his eyes to hide the depth of his emotions though he knew it likely did him no good. “He has kept his faith. He has prayed.”

 

She cocked her head. “And have you not prayed?’

 

“To Cas,” he snapped. “I prayed to Cas because he answered.”

 

“Hmm. And is praying to Castiel not praying to me?”

 

Dean opened his mouth and then closed it. Was it that simple? The angels were conduits to God and if praying to one of them meant God heard the prayer, wasn’t that proof of how much God loved not only his humans but his angels too?

 

He cleared his throat but the words still came out deep and rough. “You heard me praying in Hell?”

 

The smile that came over her borrowed face was sad, was also contrite. “Yes, Dean. I heard you praying in Hell.”

 

What started as a choke he turned into a harsh laugh. “Of course you heard me. You did. It only took you _forty years_ to save me! Let me thank you for that now.”

 

Apparently God understood sarcasm because she pursed her lips in amusement and swung down from the table she had been sitting on. This put them on level footing, so to speak, and they moved almost like boxers shifting around the ring. It was graceful, the dance, and it was one Dean had done often with a variety of monsters. That he was doing it with God should concern him, but he’d learned long ago that the most unexpected was the expected.

 

“I did answer. It did take Castiel much longer to find you than I anticipated.” She slid her fingers over the rough top of the table that Dean had recently been leaning against, their dance moving slowly but intently.

 

Unconsciously Dean rolled his left shoulder. “Yeah, you sent me Cas. You sent your loyal, brave soldier on a suicide mission.”

 

“He succeeded.”

 

“At what cost? His unshakeable faith? His connection to his own kind? His reward for his obedience is to not hear his father anymore?”

 

She stopped moving and pinned him with her eyes. “Dean, you are the Righteous Man. I allowed my own son to be humiliated, beaten, scourged and crucified. What makes you think you deserve better treatment?”

 

His hands fell to his sides as the unsympathetic words were spoken. Even John Winchester, never winning any father of the year awards, spoke with more feeling about his sons. The words were spoken clearly, the eyes were blank and expecting an answer.

 

“Because I’m human. Just human,” Dean rasped.

 

After a moment she stepped toward him and he stepped hastily back, blinking through the tears in his eyes. She seemed to feel his distaste and reluctance in the air and stepped back again. Sighing she moved a few feet away to pull an old stool out from beneath the table and climb up on it. Though she looked like a normal woman, her rigid posture and the crease in her brow from the topic spoke volumes to Dean. He didn’t relax but he wished he could bottle this moment and share it with Cas and Sam.

 

“My angels say that I love humans too much,” she offered, tone slightly perplexed.

 

“Do you?”

 

He eyes blinked. “I don’t understand the question.”

 

Dean had to bite his lip. In so many ways it was like having a conversation with Cas and yet, if he was to believe this was his Creator, it was scary in so many ways. Tamping down logic, he decided to approach this as he would any other solo hunt: likely too reckless with only guts and luck to help him out.

 

“So are you occupying a vessel?” Dean asked.

 

“I don’t see…Yes, I am borrowing this vessel.”

 

He frowned, the shock real. “You’re telling me there is someone strong enough to be a vessel for God?”

 

He watched as her brow furrowed further and her delicate mouth pursed. Up against the unforeseen, you tried to keep them on their toes, throw unpredictable and unexpected weapons at them. Words could be weapons, he had learned that well from Sam.

 

“For a time, yes.”

 

“Explain?”

 

Her eyebrows shot up at his commanding tone but she only narrowed her eyes. “Just as you and your brother are of a lineage that makes you vessels for the Archangels, there are those that descend from my son’s bloodline. Those that have the ability to contain me within their fragile skin for a time.”

 

“And just who have you “borrowed”?” He used Castiel’s fondness for air quotes.

 

She swept a hand down the woman’s body. “Her name is Renee. She’s in her mid-thirties. A single mother to a little boy who lives a quiet and predictable life.”

 

Without plan he took half a step forward. “You took over a single mom and left her child unattended?”

 

The coolness in her eyes brought him up short and he swallowed hard but refused to step back. “You should remember your own human frailty, Dean Winchester.”

His chin came up, eyes narrowing. “If the Righteous Man cannot challenge God, then who can?”

 

A warm laugh washed over her, turning her eyes engaging and hard to resist. “The stories of you are not exaggerated. I am so delighted to find that you are more than I had expected.”

 

Dean groaned and ran a hand through his hair. He wished for a stiff drink. “Has anyone ever told you that you are a huge contradiction?”

 

“Have you read the Old Testament?” she replied dryly and then nodded her head to his side. “I believe you will appreciate this offering.”

 

He turned to find a bottle of whiskey and two short glasses with ice. It was a bottle of Jack Daniel’s Single Barrel. Smiling lightly, ignoring the twinge of fear in his gut, he poured himself three fingers and glanced over his shoulder with a nod to the bottle. She nodded back and he poured her three fingers as well. Swirling both glasses lightly, he crossed the space to her and then took up a post catty-corner along another table, though he did bring the bottle with him.

 

At the first sip he closed his eyes. The whiskey smelled like caramel and went down almost as smooth. He was used to making do with whatever he could purchase at the time, usually something cheap and biting, so this was an enjoyable reprieve.  His eyes opened when a small sound caught his attention and the woman he knew as God had her eyes closed and licked her lips with a delighted hum before smiling at him.

 

“I avoid reading as a general course,” Dean offered.

 

She swirled her drink. “So yes, family bloodlines are important.”

 

“Family doesn’t end with blood.”

 

Her eyes on his were serious when she nodded. “True. And in your case, more so. But, to be a vessel, to be able to contain and not burn up hosting a heavenly being, you must be from certain lineages.” Her delicate hands rolled the glass back and forth, the amber liquid within a mesmerizing focal point. “This child, the woman’s child, is being watched over. He is in no danger.” Her mouth quirked and she shot a quick glance at him. “You’ll find this self serving in my case, but her son is also of her lineage which means he is very important for the future.”

 

Dean blanched. “To continue to create human vessels capable of containing you?”

 

She shrugged. “No matter what I say you will think that. Perhaps I should let you meet him. He’s inquisitive, smart and insightful. He’s five now and his life has been very different from your own at that point. Perhaps you would not resent your lot in life if you talked to him.”

 

“I thought we had free will.”

 

“You do, Dean. More than you know.” She knocked back the rest of her glass and held it out to him. “You chose your path, Dean. You chose to make the Crossroads deal. You chose to go to Hell.” Her voice was soft, gentle even.

 

“I didn’t choose my mom to be killed by a demon. I didn’t choose Sam to be infected with demon blood. I didn’t choose for Dad to die. And I didn’t choose to be your Righteous Man,” he countered, his voice hoarse. He refilled his own glass when he filled hers. And he noticed the ice had not diminished at all. That was suddenly very scary.

 

She slipped back onto the stool as if resigning herself to a long conversation. “Didn’t you?” she said matter-of-fact. “Maybe the earlier parts, but when you chose to make a deal to save Sam, you did choose sacrifice. And every time you went on a hunt you were willing to sacrifice to save the innocent. You could have chosen a different path,” she reminded him. “Sam did.”

 

“And look how well that turned out.” His voice was dripping with sarcastic venom.

 

“Oh, Dean,” and there was a gentle smile in her voice. “Do you even grasp the concept of the word “righteous”? No, look at your Castiel. Righteous men listen and follow and believe and do. First it was your father, and then it was your own conscious. How many times did you walk away only to find yourself pulled back in because you pulled yourself in?”

 

Dean ran a rough hand over his face, suddenly tired. He never liked to be faced with his own deeds, good or bad. And there were plenty of both. He was convinced the bad still outnumbered the good by quite a few.

 

He licked his lips. “Will you ever let Cas see you?”

 

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

 

Dean blinked. “That’s all you have to say?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“He deserves more from you,” Dean argued.

 

“Does he?” Her voice was distant. “He was a being created to follow rules, commands, and see them through. It should not matter if he sees his commander.”

 

“His father,” Dean choked out. “He wants to see his father.”

 

“Wasn’t your father your commander?”

 

Dean closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. “We’re not talking about me.”

 

“Aren’t we?”

 

His head snapped up. Several thoughts flitted through his mind, none of them pleasant. “Are you saying…saying Castiel wouldn’t be here without me?”

 

The amber liquid swirled though there wasn’t much left in her glass. Apparently God was a bit of a lush. “I create and then I walk away. That’s the nature of free will. I tinker, I mess with, I hope for and so does my counterpart. And then that’s where free will enters in. It isn’t majestic or mythical; it’s built into the fiber of what a human being is.”

 

“Cas isn’t human,” Dean offered.

 

“When he touched you, he left a mark, yes?” she suggested, eyes bright. “Do you think he didn’t receive a mark in return?” At Dean’s open mouthed look she chuckled. “Maybe not one you can see, but perhaps something both of you have overlooked.”

 

He ran a hand over his mouth, a very characteristic Dean Winchester move. His brain hurt, his thoughts whirled and he still wondered where the hell he actually was. Was he still in his own time? Were Sam and Cas ok? And while all signs pointed to God, it could be Lucifer still.

 

“Dean,” her tone was chastising. “I am not Lucifer. I don’t want to hurt you or coerce you.” An amused smile crossed her lips. “Such a doubting Thomas. Shall I tell you about Rhonda Hurley and the pink satiny panties?” Her delicate shoulders shrugged. “I can keep going. Perhaps I should talk about how much you wanted Ben to be your own.”

 

“Enough,” he rasped. “Enough. Let’s go back. So you’re saying that part of Cas is human because of me?”

 

“Only the tiniest speck. So minute as to be almost unnoticeable.”

 

Dean breathed a sigh of relief at this. “Who can see it?”

 

“Not many. I certainly can. The Archangels likely, if they cared to look. You see, the human soul is not unlike an angel’s grace. They are so bright, so luminescent, and so pure. And yet they are very different. I can see the edges where they touch each other, where they bend and twist together.” Her eyes met his. “You realize that means you have a touch of his grace within you.”

 

“How is that possible?”

 

“Your bloodline is meant to contain the Archangel Michael. Castiel is a lower class of angel, therefore you could be a vessel for him. Which is why, when he was the one that raised you from Hell, a bit of each of you leaked into the other.”

 

“Wait.” Dean waived his glass in front of him as he tried to process what he was being told. “So I have a bit of grace and Cas has a bit of human soul. Doesn’t that weaken him?”

 

Her smile was warm. “On the contrary, it is why he has been able to do many things that other angels cannot. It is why he has been able to lead such an all convincing rebellion in heaven.”

 

“You sound proud of this.”

 

“Why would I not be? I didn’t know the transference could take place. It wasn’t even Castiel that was supposed to reach you first.”

 

“What?”

 

Sighing, she sipped her drink and shifted on the stool. “It took many angels laying siege to Hell to reach you, Dean. It was not as if Castiel accomplished this alone.”

 

“I know that,” Dean offered. “He has told me a little of it.”

 

“Not enough, I would wager.”

 

“Many died; many were maimed, some trapped and tortured. A minor war was waged simply to rescue the Righteous Man.”

 

“You sound bitter.”

 

Dean frowned at her. “Yeah, I am. I can’t be the only person capable of being the Righteous Symbol for the masses.”

 

She nodded. “That is true. There are others that could have been chosen, that could follow the path. But none as well suited as you.”

 

Throwing back his head, Dean laughed harshly. “This is ridiculous.”

 

“Is it? I told you Castiel was not supposed to be the one that reached you. Don’t you want to know who was?”

 

He shifted uncomfortably. “Not really.”

 

“Don’t worry, it wasn’t Michael. But it was his lieutenant.”

 

“A higher rank of angel than Castiel.” His tone was full of distaste.

 

“Yes. Let’s talk about something you think about all the time. Why would God choose a promiscuous, sarcastic, broken shell of a man with a propensity for alcohol to be his Righteous Man?”

 

Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah. Something like that.”

 

“And you see, it was the lowly soldier that reached you.” Her eyes were on his in a way that spoke of sympathy and strength. She reached and refilled both of their glasses again. “Let me explain how the two of you are alike and came together under such unexpected circumstances.”

 

He shook his head and swirled his whiskey. “It doesn’t matter.”

 

“Actually,” she offered, “It does. Hear me out. What do you have to lose? Just listen and drink your whiskey.”

 

Saluting her with his glass, he settled his hips back against the table and pasted on a semi interested, semi belligerent face. She merely pursed her lips in a half smile. It was as if every arrogant, unexpected and blatantly rebellious gesture from him amused her.

 

“So here you are, a broken shell of a man, fighting against the supernatural, saving people who have no idea what they are being saved from. And in heaven, there is an angel, a simple soldier, leading his troops. Both of your following your father’s footsteps, following his guidance and his rules, even when you weren’t sure why. Even when he abandoned you.” She shrugged. “At first glance, neither of you are particularly noticeable. Yet, when someone who watches carefully takes notice, a pattern begins to emerge.”

 

She slid off her stool now, as if she needed movement to convey the magnitude of her words. “You both follow a leader, but that in itself is not unique. What is surprising is not that you follow the orders, but in how you choose to follow them. You both respond on instinct. You take in your surroundings and your advantages and find a way to play them against the weaknesses you encounter.” She shook her head. “You both won more battles than you ever should have done. And yes, “’ganking some demon’”- “she used air quotes with a grin-“counts as a battle.”

 

Dean ducked his head and grinned in spite of himself. Though pleased with the praise, he was uncomfortable too, and honestly he wanted to learn more about Castiel.

 

“Dean, your “give ‘em hell attitude” allows you to think outside the box. You see situations in a way no other hunter does. More than that, you have heart. You sacrifice. Though you try and project a carefree, tough guy persona, those that know you see beneath. Family matters. And many are family to you.”

 

She turned away to pace, waving her glass in a haphazard gesture. “And Castiel, darling Castiel. He always surprised me. His faith never waivered, he never disobeyed an order. Even when the odds were against him, his logical fortitude brought him to see plans others never would have. Castiel surprised me often.” When she turned, her eyes bored into his. “Not unlike you surprised your own father.”

 

He was shaking his head as she finished speaking. John Winchester was a sore spot with him still and he refused to speak of him except rarely.

 

“Fine. I will let that go. Then let us turn to the concept of worthiness. It is not just I who have judged you to be the Righteous Man. Many thought it would be your father.”

 

Dean licked his lips. “He held out in Hell.”

 

“He did,” she acknowledged. “Beyond what many had expected. But so did you.”

 

“He went longer,” Dean protested. “What made me more exceptional?”

 

“Nothing.” She spread her arms wide as if to show sincerity. “Sometimes it boils down to timing and dumb luck.”

 

“You mean bad timing.”

 

“It would seem so to you,” she offered. “And likely to Castiel. But do let me continue, please.”

 

What he wanted to do was argue and walk away. That was not a possibility. Not knowing how he had been brought here, he had nothing to counteract the situation. And from what Zachariah had done, he knew he had to play out the scenario. So he made a sarcastic bow for her to continue.

 

Her sigh was heartfelt and he found himself straightening in response. “So here we have a self-acknowledged broken Righteous Man who doesn’t believe in himself and a lowly soldier following orders from a general he cannot hear. Sounds like a disaster waiting to happen,” she acknowledged. “But the one thing no one counted on, the one tiny little bit of _something_ that no one else possessed, angel or human, was desire. Not physical desire, not desire for power, mind you, but desire for an end, for peace.”

 

Dean started to shake, his knees felt weak. He had to lock his knees and set his face in a carefully blank expression.

 

“Yes. You begin to see. Once, your world was black and white but it began to bleed into grey. Grey is the reality of the world between Heaven and Hell.”

 

“So what?” he scoffed. “I’m supposed to be some grey soldier of peace?”

 

“Hell no,” she countered, the disdain evident in her voice. “You are what you are and so is Castiel. And when the unlikely soldier raised the unlikely Righteous Man things shifted.”

 

“Wait, wait, wait.” Dean waived his hand between them, aware that he was beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol. He should have rightly felt it before now but he was momentarily overcome by the wave of dizziness and nausea. He closed his eyes, breathed deep and then realized he was back to only slightly buzzed. It was an unwelcome feeling and his eyes shot open.

 

“I’m sorry. I wanted to put you at ease but not so far at ease that you began to forget the conversation. If it comforts you, your glass is now full, and will remain so, but you will not go beyond this feeling while in my presence.”

 

“Hmm. An anti-drunk spell. Cool. Could I get that in writing so I can recreate it? Would come in handy.” Her sigh was pointed and yet he still narrowed his eyes and leaned closer. “I’m not afraid of you.”

 

“Yes, you are,” she said. “What is remarkable is that you bury it beneath your multiple misgivings and trudge forward, expecting the outcome will be what you need.”

 

He pushed his advantage by stepping forward, by crowding her space and pushing any personal feelings aside. He had no guarantee that either Sam or Cas was safe so, in his estimate, he had nothing to lose.

 

“You want to save Sam and Cas? Step back. Listen to me and I will tell you.”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3 – Master and Servant

** Chapter 3 – Master and Servant **

 

Stepping forward, he reached beyond her for the whiskey bottle. From her stiffening and huff he knew it wasn’t what she expected. Allowing himself a momentary glint of triumph, he quickly blocked it back out. He found himself agreeing with her in that what was expected he found the way to respond differently.

 

“So you never intended for my rescue?” he demanded.

 

“Not true. I did command it. Castiel spoke true.”

 

“And you had no control as to who reached me?”

 

“You mock me with your tone. I did and I didn’t. I sent those I trusted, those I expected could maneuver the trials and tribulations of Hell. Lucifer was a good angel. He was loyal and true. But he was flawed.”

 

“All humans are flawed,” Dean protested.

 

She shrugged that careless lift of shoulders again. “Beautifully so. Look at you. At Bobby Singer. At your beloved father. The most flawed seem to have the most capacity for redemption.”

 

“Bullshit. You play with us. All of us. You engineer situations of chance and competition to see who comes out on top.” His step forward was predatory, not unlike a tiger, and he was utterly unaware of the action. “If you wanted someone other than Cas to reach me, you could have made it happen.”

 

Her finger jabbed into his chest, her eyes flaring. “You had control as to who reached you. You had a say whether you think it or not. Who prayed? You did. And Castiel did. Who wished for peace? You did. And Castiel did.” She straightened up to her full height, much shorter than him, and stood her ground. “Tell me who it was then if it wasn’t you and Castiel.”

 

With a cry he pushed back away from her, his head bowing. “I didn’t know.”

 

“Didn’t you?”

 

The cold tone of her voice had him looking up. He found barren ground there. The Antarctic was reflected in her eyes, in her stance. Over the years his belief in God had waxed and waned and yet he had always expected to find warmth and welcome. Here and now he felt cold.

 

Her hand came to rest on his cheek and he fought it, but his eyes closed as he leaned into the touch. “You are beautiful,” she said softly. “More beautiful than they say.”

 

He snorted, wanting to pull back but unable to do so.” Says who?”

 

She stepped closer and took his cheeks in her hands. The touch now was warm and open, welcoming and soothing. “Oh, love. Multitudes have seen you over the years. Watched you grow from a boy to a youth to a man. Yet that isn’t what I mean. Your soul is beautiful, unique and touchable. But your face, that stunning face, is what haunts most.”

 

This he had heard before. From women, from other men, from strangers and friends alike. It wasn’t as if he had any control over it. He’d been born with this face, with this form, and what was he supposed to do about it?

 

“You want me to thank you?” he bit off.

 

“Should you?”

 

“Fuck,” he whispered and ran frustrated hands through his hair. “Your own words. How do they go: _before I formed you in the womb I knew you_ …? False pretenses do not become you.”

 

“You quote words to me written by men who believed in me and you are not sure you believe.”

 

“But if I do,” he countered, “If I can, should I not take those words to heart? Should I not think that I know you, that you know me, through your own words spoken to a prophet?”

 

“Touché. If only Castiel had your knack with words.”

 

He grunted. “How would you know if you choose not to speak to him?”

 

“See what I mean? Loyal. To a fault. Even in the bald face of uncertainty.”

 

Dean slammed his glass down onto the table and hunched his shoulders as he gathered his thoughts under control. “Look. I didn’t ask to talk to God. I didn’t ask to meet you. All I have asked has been for Sammy and for my Dad. The one person that has unwavering faith in you and has asked to speak with you, you choose to ignore. Care to tell me why?”

 

“No.”

 

“Fine,” he bit off, crossing his arms over his chest. “Invoking my Righteous Man privileges, I have determined that I need to know about the angel Castiel. Anything and everything you can tell me. Including why you won’t talk to him.”

 

“Outside the box. You don’t need to know.”

 

“Says you? Says the master of the universe who relies on loyal but broken men to carry out the necessary when you have loyal, holy beings at your beck and call?” His green eyes flashed. “In fact, if I take myself out of the game doesn’t that ruin your plans?”

 

Her eyes narrowed, more grey than he had seen them before. “What do you mean?”

 

He shrugged. “It’s like Neo in the Matrix. They told him the pattern repeats itself over and over again, essentially coming to the same end point, to the same decision. But all it takes to change things is for one person to stand against the establishment and make the unexpected choice. So I leave the game. I can retire from hunting, hole myself up in a cabin in the middle of Montana and yet neither of those takes me completely out of the game.” He made a half shrugging gesture. “To be sure, I could eat a bullet. Unpleasant, and not my first choice, but it would completely remove me.”

 

For tense moments she stood simply staring back at him and then her chiming laughter surrounded him. He wondered if this was how her vessel also laughed or if this was a unique display of the actual being he was speaking with.

 

“I forget how young you actually are, Dean. Even if you eat a bullet, I can resurrect you.”

 

“Yeah. And won’t I still be the same me? If you tinker with me in the raising processes doesn’t that mean you should forfeit the game? Either you bring me back as me, or you don’t bring back the Righteous Man,” he challenged.

 

She closed her eyes and shook her head with a smile. “Amazing,” she breathed. “You are simply amazing. You focus not on the fact that I can bring you back to life, but that in order to keep the balance, I cannot change anything about you.”

 

“I’ve died enough times in my lifetime. Knowing I can come back is not some supernatural revelation.”

 

“Michael has no true idea what you are like, I don’t think.”

 

“You don’t think? What? You don’t talk to the favorite son either? Do you talk to anyone?”

 

“Not really. I still talk to Joshua, he’s about the only one. You’ll learn about him later. You’ll even get to meet him.”

 

He snorted. “Can you really say that with certainly when we have constantly spoken of the nature of free will?”

 

Her smug smile surprised him. “Yes. On some things I can speak with certainty. Though I believe I know how and why you will learn of Joshua, there is some flexibility. I do know, however, that eventually, no matter what path is taken, that you will speak with Joshua.”

 

“Who is he?”

 

“Hmmm. I’ve always called him my gardener. That’s really neither here nor there, nor of great importance. It’s what he calls himself.”

 

Dean noticed that both her tone and the look on her face were softer than they had been. It was the sort of look that one projected when they spoke about someone they cared deeply for. At least, among humans, it was. And since God was wearing a human, all he could assume was that it was the closest expression available to explain the connection between them.

 

Licking his lips, he dropped his gaze to his glass. “Have any of your angels ever seen you?” he asked softly.

 

“Yes, Dean. A few. When necessary.”

 

He looked up through the fringe of his lashes, wishing for Sam’s long hair to help hide his face. “Don’t children need to see their father?”

 

“Angels are not human children. They are spiritual beings with great powers, nothing like fragile human children,” she countered.

 

“They don’t need love?”

 

She cocked her head. “They are love.”

 

Dean frowned, not at all comprehending. The angels thought that God loved the humans more but here was God telling him that angels were actually love. Trying to reason that out hurt his head, partly due to the quantity of whiskey he had consumed, and partly because he was speaking to the head celestial being and not another rational human being.

 

“You know,” she began, “the more we talk, the more remarkable I comprehend that you are. By now, knowing what they were talking to, many people would have begged for me to take the burden away, asked for salvation for their loved ones, or demand to know why. You have done none of these things.”

 

“Why should I? None of those things provide any stability. I don’t want this job but what good would it do me to beg you to take it away, knowing it would be given to some other poor sap that is less prepared than I was? So yeah, I could make his or her life miserable just because I wanted the apple pie life?” He knocked back the rest of his glass. “Maybe you don’t know me at all.”

 

“Isn’t that what I have been trying to say?” The look on her face was one of satisfaction. “You are the Righteous Man. You ask for nothing from me, save what you want to know in order to help your family. Which is noble. You ask for nothing for yourself.”

 

“Fuck this. I’m not noble. I’m not brave or righteous or the captain of the guard. I’m a man. A flawed one and poor bet by anyone’s estimation.”

“ ** _But whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be slave of all._** ** _For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many_** ** _."_**

Dean laughed harshly. “Now, _now_ you quote scripture at me?”

 

“I thought you didn’t read,” came her droll response.

 

“Christ!” he smothered the curse behind his hand and turned his back on the room to lean on the table there.

 

“He is my son.” Her voice was even more dry now, humor slicing through every syllable.

 

Dean hung his head and laughed silently. How fucked up was his life? He made a deal to go to Hell and got pulled out by an angel who almost blasted his ear drums. Now God, yeah, The God, had snatched him for a chat and was amused when he used said deity’s son’s name in vain. Worse yet, who knew that God had a real sense of humor?

 

“Now that isn’t fair,” she teased dryly. “I created humans didn’t I?”

 

He turned to find her half quirked smile and raised eyebrow. “Sure. Just don’t ever compare me to Jesus Christ.”

 

“Why not?” The puzzled tilt of her head reinforced her otherworldly self to him when he had began to see her…him… as something close to human.

 

Clearing his throat he tried to sound authoritative. “It’s just not a good idea with humans. We find it…unnerving.”

 

“Hmm.” She shrugged. “Odd but ok. He was a good man, a good son. He followed orders.”

 

“Never went off script?”

 

“Not _that_ good of a son.”

 

They shared an understanding smile and nod. Not knowing how much longer this might go on, Dean reached for his glass and as he turned, there was a flare of heat in his left shoulder, and he dropped the glass to the floor with a loud crash as his right hand gripped his shoulder. His eyes squeezed closed briefly and then opened as if staring into some other dimension.

 

“Cas,” he gasped.

 

She pushed away from her table and approached him but did not touch. “You can feel him?”

 

Dean swallowed. “Yeah.” His voice was low and raspy. “Something’s….something’s wrong.”

 

“Fine.” Her tone was curt but in the way a general was because he had a decision to make that had nothing to do with emotion. “We’ll speak again Dean Winchester. You will remember this but be unable to speak of it.” She stepped minutely closer which caused his eyes to focus on hers as she reached her first two fingers to his forehead. “Take care of Castiel.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure this formatted right. Please advise if not and I will try and fix. I'm new to AO3 so help is appreciated.


	4. Bite Your Tongue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm. After 9.22 I'm not sure about this fic. BUT, I wrote it based on Season 5 and my imagination so I should NOT let myself be confused/persuaded/conflicted by Season 9. Please try and enjoy. Uh...I would love some comments. I have about 3-4 more chapters done but I won't deny I would like to hear either criticism or that this is decently received. Kudos count! :)

Chapter 4- Bite Your Tongue

She had spoken true. Dean remembered his time with God and their conversations. Every time he opened his mouth to speak of it, he found the words fade in his throat. It wasn’t painful, but it did make him look like an idiot from time to time. The fading only, the lack of pain, made him think that one day he would be able to speak of it to those he felt he needed to. He held onto that thought when other fears clawed at his chest. 

He once tried to speak to Bobby about it. Surprisingly he was able to choke out garbled and incoherent concepts. Bobby had only nodded and clapped him on the shoulder then handed him a beer with dark eyes. The older man had advised he sleep on it, work through it, but not dismiss the mysterious. Dean had been unable to be specific but some word or phrase or look that Dean managed let the older man see beneath the veil enough to provide comfort. It was the first night that he remembered a dreamless sleep in several months.

Since the age of four, Dean remembered very little in the way of permanent fixtures in his life. There was constant travel, if one could call that a fixture. There were the guns and the “watch out for Sammy” repeated like a litany, and the endless motel rooms. Yet there was one thing that lodged itself in his brain and refused to let go. And maybe he didn’t want it to let go. 

Stepping outside, Dean shoved his hands into his jean pockets and huffed out a breath. Summer was only beginning to fade so he felt comfortable in jeans and a dark t-shirt as he stepped outside. The crunch of loose gravel greeted him as he stepped off the back porch and that alone cause him to roll his shoulders in an attempt to loosen them. 

Singer Salvage was home base. More times than he cared to count he had found his way here to heal wounds, to find a shoulder, and to reaffirm his own sanity. Now Bobby offered him an early 1970s Chevy Corvette that he needed to restore for a buyer. Bobby always seemed to find a project like this for Dean when it was needed and they both knew he had been on edge for months. Since his conversation with God that he was unable to share much with anyone. How God expected him to keep quiet, or sane in keeping quiet, was anyone’s guess. Everyone else mistook it for his stoic, older Winchester need to protect, but he honestly wished he could talk to someone.

So he slid outside a bit before the sun set to observe the car in the fading light. Dean always had an affinity for cars and would be a mechanic if he weren’t a hunter. The body was a bit rusted and ill kept, but that was something he knew he could repair. Surprisingly the interior was actually in decent shape and just needed a deep clean and couple leather rubs. 

His heart beat up a bit as he popped the hood. He hummed as he set it into place and bent over the engine. “Ah, baby, someone hasn’t taken care of you.” His eyes lingered on corroded connections, blistered belts and gummed parts. “But I can clean you up, take care of you and make you purr again,” he murmured. 

“Does that line work on women too?”

Dean cursed and started, almost banging his head on the hood. He turned to look behind him and found God, or God’s vessel at least, perched on the hood of an old and rusted Dodge Charger. She was dressed casually in jeans and a sweatshirt but he would know those eyes anywhere. 

Internally gritting his teeth, he turned to face her and crossed arms over his chest as he leaned back against the vintage muscle car. He felt it gave him some stability, rooted him in his heritage as well as the here and now. Before he had been dragged to some other place and time and if he could keep a foothold on now, he might feel grounded. 

“It is not my intention to take you to a place where you are uncomfortable,” she said, with a small sigh. “I thought that taking you to the place you met Castiel first would be soothing.”

He laughed. “Have you met Castiel? Nothing about him is soothing.”

Her head cocked to one side. “But he is a good soldier.”

“Ok. That might make him soothing to his commanding officer, but to humans he’s a bit-“ Dean made a helpless gesture, “-stiff.”

“Does he lack knowledge?”

It was like talking to a brick wall, Dean concluded. “Yes and no. He has a wealth of knowledge about many things, but not necessarily about humans.” He frowned in thought. “Where have you been if you haven’t observed him? Shouldn’t you know this?”

She leaned back on her hands. “I’ve been around. I find it best if I don’t hover too much. In angel or human affairs. I find it disturbs them.”

“As much as your blatant absence does?” he snapped. 

“I’m never completely absent,” she offered with a shrug. “I’m always around, always listening, or able to listen anyway. I take it all in. My presence is in all living things. So I am always there if my children choose to look and listen.”

Dean could only blink. How did one tell God that phone calls and letters weren’t enough? Children need their parents, even when they don’t want them. A few words over the phone line weren’t the same a small child being able to wrap their arms around a parent’s neck. Though God created humans he certainly wasn’t one and maybe he could not grasp that difference.

“Why are you here?”

Her eyes widened in mock innocence. “What? I can’t make house calls now?”

“Isn’t that why we have churches? So you don’t have to make as many house calls?”

“You are a cheeky brat.” Her tone was amused. “I forget how beautiful you are until I get up close again.”

He cleared this throat and shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Her soft laugh caused him to raise his eyes again. The laugh softened her face and lit her eyes from within. He could almost believe he was sitting across from a woman only slightly older than he was chatting in the salvage yard and considering where the night might go. And wasn’t that a disturbing thought?

“Your beauty should not be a burden to you.” She tilted her head and the fading sunlight caught the auburn tresses. “If you are honest, your looks have actually helped you be a hunter. You have used them to charm women of all ages into talking to you by flirting lightly or heavily as the case needed. Even straight men find you easy on the eyes. Your symmetry is almost flawless.” Her hand slid up his cheek. 

Dean cursed and jerked away. Moments before she had been sitting on the old car several feet from him and then she was standing right in front of him, touching him. It was creepy when Cas appeared like that but this disturbed him even more. His heart was racing and he wished he had a weapon on him. 

Her eyes looked more grey in this light and she frowned with that same confused look that Cas sometimes had. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I simply wanted to touch you to see what it felt like.”

“What what felt like?”

“Your image is unmistakably burned into Castiel’s mind. He sees you so very clearly and with such accuracy.” Her voice held a bit of puzzlement and awe. “All those freckles. I wanted to see if they felt different.”

He gave a full body shiver. “That is just creepy.”

Her shoulders drooped a little as she sighed. “I know I’m not human Dean. I am well aware of my limitations, even if I did create humans. The capacity for emotions of all kind is so large within you and yet the ability to express them is extremely limited in this form.” She turned her hands over and looked at them. “The concept of touch is so simple and essential to any human’s wellbeing, but I am finding it is extremely complex.”

He tried to hide his smile since she reminded him so much of Cas at times. Then his face sobered. “Does Cas know you read his thoughts so intimately?”

“I doubt it.”

“That’s it? No further reasoning or explanation?”

“None is needed. Castiel is mine as all the other angels are mine. His thoughts are not locked to me.”

“Back to my original question,” he directed, bothered that she shrugged off spying on Castiel so easily. “Why are you here?”

“Our last conversation was interrupted.” She waved her hand and a metal bucket full of ice and a six pack of beer appeared beside him. 

Dean took it for the offering it was. He grabbed two longnecks out, twisted off the tops and handed her one. Either God liked to drink or it was a ruse to put him at ease. He did often feel most comfortable with a beer, or a gun, in his hand. 

“I feel safer if you have the beer,” she murmured.

He almost choked on the swallow of beer. “Let me offer some advice in dealing with humans. At least let us think we have the privacy of our own minds.”

“But then you could lie,” she said.

“Free will.” He enunciated the words slowly and clearly.

“Touché.” She tipped back her beer. “I’m here because you have work to do.”

“Yeah, Cas already filled me in on that one,” he reminded her dryly.

“If you occasionally shut your pretty but impertinent mouth, you might actually learn something,” she snapped, eyes full of fire.

Feeling brave, he leaned forward, his own eyes tired and hard. “Then find another Righteous Man.”

“I can’t,” she admitted. 

“Sure you can. You’re God. Just waive your magic wand and waa-laa.”

“When I forget how pretty you are, I also forget how narrow your view is. Because you are human. It’s a flaw in all humans.” She settled next to him and leaned on the car. “The die has been cast and once set in motion, certain things I cannot alter. I can influence, but not outright change.”

Dean fidgeted as he tried to gather his thoughts. “So let me get this straight: you aren’t omnipotent?”

Her look was pointed and chastising. “Dean, the universe in infinite. I would have burned myself out of existence long ago if I worried about what every person ate for breakfast. That’s part of the reason for the angels.”

His eyes narrowed. “So no fate is ever set in stone?”

“Ah. You’re asking about Sam. I can’t answer that.”

“Won’t.”

She shrugged. “As you will. But I did come here to tell you something.”

“Other than that I have work to do?”

“You’re going to meet an old friend of mine soon. I ask that you be kind to him and listen to him.”

“You have friends?” The words popped out before he could stop them and he braced himself for some sort of celestial slap. When he realized no pain was coming and looked over at her he stood speechless. 

Her eyes were like fathomless pools in which he could easily drown. The mask of humanity had slipped away as much as it could and see saw the form beneath. If angels were scary, this was downright terrifying and he had to lock his knees in order to stay standing. His mouth went dry and he licked at his lips, unsure if staying still was the best response. 

“You think being me is easy?” Her voice rolled through him like thunder and he swayed on his feet. “You think this existence is pleasant and full of flowery fields and butterflies?” She shook her head. “I thought that if anyone human could begin to grasp the magnitude of the situation it was you. I was wrong.”

Dean grit his teeth at the flow of emotions through him and around him. So he pulled out a typical ploy and tried to redirect. “So who is this friend I’m to look for?” He grit the words out from between his teeth and was rewarded by the storm around him pulling back.

“Death. You’re going to meet Death.”

“Thought I already had,” he offered dryly. “You know, having died and all.”

She shook her head. “This is Death. As in the Four Horsemen. He’s going to talk to you and teach you something.” Her eyes pierced him. “I hope you listen and learn, Dean Winchester. It might be what saves you.”

He let out a shuddering breath and leaned heavily on the car. If God thought Death was his best ally, what did that really mean for the future? What the hell had the Winchesters stepped into now?


	5. As Mothers Love Their Sons

Chapter 5 – As Mothers Love Their Sons

Executing a half turn, Dean tried to hide his thoughts and ran a hand over his mouth as he turned back to her. “You’re saying that you want me to buddy up with Death?” He tried to project a bit of ridicule in his voice. 

Dean watched as her petite, gently rounded hips snuggled down against the rusted bumper of the Corvette. Her multi colored eyes looked up at him through dark lashes and he felt his heart stutter in his chest. 

“The reason others doubt you is because you doubt yourself,” she said.

He wanted to throw some casual response in her face but he couldn’t. She was right. He doubted himself every day, with every action and every move he had to make. Yet, he still had to make each of those decisions and he did so without fail. He might hesitate, he might choke, and yet no one, not even God, could fault him for not following through.

“Dean,” her voice held compassionate wonder. “You misunderstand me. I look upon you and I am amazed. I see you through Castiel’s eyes and I have no doubts that his raising you from Hell was the right choice.”

“I thought you commanded it.” His voice was low, eyes narrowed.

“I did.” That smooth face with its almost pore-less skin was suddenly in contrast with the light and he saw the subtle small scar in the middle of her nose and on her left cheek. He wondered at them. They were shallow and long faded, adding to her uniqueness, but he still gave thought to their origin. 

Her smile was shy and she ducked her head. “You want to know about my vessel?”

Dean blinked at the quietly asked question. It was still bold and unexpected. He took the last swallow of his beer and reached for two more while he tried to school his face and thoughts. “I guess I do. She’s a person right? She’s still in you while you—“ he waved a hand as he opened one of the beers “—possess her vessel. I mean, she’s not gone completely, right?”

The woman he knew as God, nee Renee something, took the beer from him with a small smile. “Yes, she is here. She admits curiosity about you and about the whole plan. Actually, in ways she reminds me of you. I would have assumed my vessel would be more accommodating.”

He couldn’t help but smile around the mouth of his beer. “I guess we mere humans continue to surprise you.”

Her pixie cut haired head cocked and she looked thoughtful. “Some of you have. That sounds conceited but I did create the human race.” Her eyes met his with understanding. “But yes, there are those of you that surprise me often. Even my own son.”

Somewhat surprised, Dean allowed that to show on his face. “Really? Your own son?”

The responding smile was warm and reminded him of those few smiles he remembered from his own mother. He had to subtly shake his head as that was an uncomfortable thought. 

“Actually, I have found that children surprise their parents most of all. Parents have expectations. Children want to be more or less than the expectations.”

Something within him moved at that. “Was he less than you expected?” He thought of his own father and how he had grown up.

Her eyes were affectionate and her voice full of praise. “Not at all. He was more. I had hopes and I had needs and I wanted so much for him. I wanted more for him than I knew was coming his way.” Her eyes fell to her beer bottle and she picked at the label. “And I had to walk away as all parents do. Especially when they least want to.”

“Eloi Eloi lama sabachthani,” Dean breathed, the words on his lips before he could stop them.

The puff of laugh from her surprised him and had his head shooting up to look at her. “Yes, those were his words. How I wish I could have answered them.”

Dean swallowed hard, clenching the beer in his hand, and took a chance. “Tell me now then what you would have said.”

“I did not forsake him nor do I forsake you now, Righteous Man. And yet, neither can I offer succor of any kind.”

All he could do was swallow and nod. Had he really expected more? Here he stood, twice in the presence of God, and yet he thought he could seek out more than the Son had? He felt not only foolish but low and mean. 

Her soft fingers on his chin raised his eyes to hers. He was still awed by the ease at which she could reflect the fathomlessness of her being without overwhelming him. Her smile was strained but kind. “Because you are the Righteous Man you see me as others cannot. So few can look upon me, even in this form, that I covet your presence.” She abruptly dropped her hand and walked away, looking up at the full moon in the sky. “I, too, am alone in many ways, Dean Winchester.”

“That is hard for a mere human to understand,” he offered. 

“Perhaps. You don’t ask for more than my own son did. But many of the things that you wonder, of which you only give voice to few, echo his own contemplations.” She swept her arms wide in a self depreciating gesture. “I often appear to be an unresponsive and cold being.”

Dean didn’t know how to respond to that. It warmed him to know he wasn’t alone and it scared the shit out of him that God was comparing him to His own son. That was freaky and not something he could entertain in his own head and stay sane. So he took the next best route: distract and deflect.

He cleared his throat. “So your vessel then?”

Not looking at him, she slid her fingers around the neck of the beer bottle. “I’ve mentioned that she’s a single mom with a little boy. She was married but it didn’t work out.”

Frowning, Dean opened his mouth and closed it again, trying to word his question correctly. “The bloodline of vessels that can hold, you know, God, isn’t one from a whole home?”

Her eyes slid up to meet his even as she kept her head tilted. “Pot. Kettle.”

It took Dean a moment and then he actually laughed. Apparently God had more of a sense of humor than he thought. The Righteous Man, broken in so many ways, had no reason to judge a vessel in a broken home. Maybe that was the key. Did those that were broken have more capacity for faith? God, wasn’t that a thought.

Perhaps they just had more capacity to endure. That had to be more reasonable. Heaven knows he’d had little enough faith and he could imagine it would take huge heaps of endurance to handle having God wear you as a costume. 

“You might like it if you tried it,” she offered. 

Dean shuddered. “No thanks.”

She tilted her head. “Renee doesn’t seem to mind. She says it isn’t always comfortable, sort of like wearing high heeled shoes that pinch all over your entire body.” Her forehead crinkled in a frown. “I don’t understand that reference.”

He took another sip of beer in order to hide his smile. It was like watching Cas on steroids. Some things she got as if she were truly human and yet some simple references totally confused her. It was both frustrating and endearing, and yet creepy because it was God. 

“Her son likes me though.”

“Does he know it’s… you know, you?”

She nodded and smiled a soft smile. “Yes, apparently he can see me. When I am in his mother’s body he can tell that it is me and not her.”

“Is that normal?”

“It’s very rare actually. Few humans have the capacity to be able to tell what I am, even what angels are, only by looking.” She shrugged. “He’s a very special little boy.”

Mary leapt into his mind and he had to duck his head and clear his throat. “She must be a really great mom.”

“Actually,” she said softly, “she’s a lot like you. She doubts herself and her ability to raise this child by herself. He can be a handful and often she feels that she isn’t enough. Works a job she is good at but getting burnt out by because it has good benefits and gives her the flexibility she needs as a single parent. You and she share that “sacrifice for family” mentality.”

The comparison made him uncomfortable. You did what you had to do for family because that’s the way it was. Doubts are a normal part of living and you had to keep going anyway no matter what. But moms were something special, something he could never be. “Family matters. Extra when you have a kid to take care of, which I don’t.”

“Don’t you?” Her look was direct. “Sam is as much your kid as your brother.”

“Dude, we’re only four years apart in age,” he scoffed.

“Irrelevant,” she countered, echoing his earlier words. “If you could see into Sam’s head, into his heart, he looks up to you much more than he did John Winchester. It’s you he looks to as a guide, as a mentor. You and Bobby. But if it came to a choice, he would always choose you.”

Dean dug the toe of his boot into the gravel, wanting to avoid the conversation. He glanced up with a hard look and pursed lips. “Look, I am who I am. I love my Baby, take care of monsters and fight for my family. It doesn’t make me unique.”

“Why the Impala, Dean?”

He shook his head. “I grew up with it. After my mom…died…after she died it was like Dad put his life for her into the car. Shit, it’s like a legacy of love. And I know that sounds stupid but there it is.”

“Dean, it’s not stupid. Putting so much love into something that can give back is never wrong.”

He found himself frowning but unable to ask what she meant by a car giving back. It was an inanimate object to matter how he liked to project personality onto her. Attributing it to the otherworldliness he observed with Cas he chose to bypass the odd thought of the Impala possessing some anthropomorphic ability to give back.

“This kid of hers, what’s his name?” Dean turned the tables over, and quickly.

“Ethan. It means “solid” or “enduring” in Hebrew.”

Dean nodded, taking another swig of his beer. He felt for the kid; felt he had a right to do so. “A good name.”

“You don’t mean that.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I do mean that. I don’t necessarily mean it’s good that he’s part of the bloodline to host you.”

Her face fell into a look of contemplation, brow furrowing. “I don’t understand why.”

He reached for another beer, opened it, and then crossed his arms over his chest. “You wouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

Sighing, he shook his head. “I don’t think I can explain it.” Shifting on his feet, he half turned to her, eyes focused somewhere beyond her, his hip biting into the hood of the car. “But I think I should try.”

“Go ahead.”

In typical Dean fashion he ran a hand through his short hair and shifted his body as he tried to digest his thoughts. “Alright. He’s a young kid that sees beyond his years. Meaning he understands things that other never have to. That alone makes him isolated and vulnerable. His rational mind doubts the sights his eyes see. So he blinks a lot and hopes for quiet sleep in the darkness.” Unconsciously Dean clenched his hand into a fist. “Mom sleeps on and he hears bumps in the night. He wakes to see shadows and pulls the cover over his head to drown out the shadows.”

“You didn’t get to drown out the shadows.” Her words were bald.

Dean looked down into his beer even though the bottle neck precluded a true look. “No. I didn’t.”

“And you want to protect him.”

His green eyes were fierce. “I want to spare him. Completely different.”

She appeared to look down, dropping her empty beer bottle into the small cooler and reaching for another, allowing him to open it when he automatically reached out. “Explain it to me.”

“What?”

“Why this boy matters.”

Dean had to walk away to pace. His mind blurred into thoughts of him and Sam as kids. Of narrow misses and hard lessons no kid should have to endure. He pictured a bright kid able to see THE fucking God in a vessel and was chilled to his very bones. That sounded like terror to him and he didn’t know how to lessen that blow.

“You think I am an abomination,” she offered softly.

“Not quite,” Dean huffed, trying to reign in his thoughts. “But, man, I’m an adult, I’ve experienced a bunch of shit. Including Hell. All this kid knows is that his mom has been turned into some wavelength of celestial light.”

“Can you equate Hell to a wavelength of Heavenly light?”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “Yeah, I can. To a regular mortal human being, the intensity is really no different.” He cleared his throat. “They both hurt. A lot. To endure, both require an ability to accept, to acquiesce.” His eyes became predatory. “As you directly result in them both, you should know this.”

Her laughed echoed dully. “You think I have any control over Hell?”

“No,” he admitted. “But you had control over Lucifer and you loosed it.”

The human vessel displayed eyes more stormy grey than he had ever seen them. As she slid sideways and up into his personal space, he lifted his chin and refused to back down. In the back of his mind both Sam and Cas argued and then begged but he took a half step forward. 

“My Righteous Man,” she crooned. 

“My own,” he countered, voice deep and ringing, overriding the fear of his supporters.

Her quick grin surprised him. “What did you really expect?” he asked as relief and fear fled through his veins.

“Antagonism. Disrespect. I was prepared for such.”

Dean frowned. “By whom?”

The smile was small and half hidden. “By Michael.”

Dean attempted to maintain a calm face. “I never asked for deceit or war.”

Agreeing, she nodded. “You did not.”

He licked his lips, aware of the disagreement on a different playing field. “I have yet to back you, Dean Winchester.” Her voice rang out over a wide field of listeners. 

Watching her retreating back, Dean knew this was all he could count on for now and nodded internally to Sam and Cas as he moved center stage. He would need both of them and didn’t dwell on the weakness that could cause. 

“If I asked you to leave the boy alone, would you?”

She pivoted on the balls of her feet, eyes cast into shadow. “Ethan, you mean?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah.”

She cocked her head. “Why would I?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” he countered in a reasonable voice. “He’s a child. You have a vessel in his mother, and her other relatives, I imagine. If I asked for one life, one small life, would you give it to me?”

“You do not know this child. Not his mind or his wants or needs. You presume to make decisions for him.”

“Much as any caring adult would,” he whispered, and then cleared this throat and shifted his feet. “You seem to forget that I rescued Sam from the fire.”

She shook her head. “I could never forget that, Dean. What would you sacrifice for this boy you do not know?”

Closing his eyes, he shot out a quick prayer, and breathed deeply. “My soul.”

“You think it’s worth the life of one child?” she challenged. 

He raised his chin, eyes dark. “I think it’s worth a thousand. But if all I can save is one, I’ll take it.”

Her cool eyes assessed him. “Is he family?”

Dean shook his head. “No.” He couldn’t fake that so he chose honesty. “But I close my eyes and I see Sam in my arms. I see this small child that wasn’t given a choice. I see a destiny that could be avoided. A life that could be lived to its fullest.”

“You think I will hurt the boy.” It wasn’t a question. 

“I think the boy, Ethan, deserves more than a destiny determined by his bloodline simply because he was born. Because perhaps angels messed with his ancestry to be sure he was born.” Dean shrugged. “I’d like to see the man he could become unencumbered by heavenly interference.”

She swirled her beer bottle and gave a wry half smile. “Do you want to know what you would have been like?”

He took a deep swallow of beer and looked at her. “No. I’m here, so I’m supposed to be here. Sam too, maybe. But if I have learned anything between Heaven and Hell, it’s that it pays to ask the question.”

“You cannot know this boy’s destiny.”

“Agreed. But he does not deserve to be corralled just because of who he is. I’ve seen Azazel’s special kids. They were all strong and capable. So is this kid.” He looked down. “But if you pigeonhole him, slot him into some space just because of his heritage, you curb his potential.”

“It is no wonder that Alistair found you a capable student. Yet you are right: too blatant is too easy.” She licked her lips to hide a smile. “You have your boon for now, Dean Winchester. Don’t blow it.”


	6. Chapter 6 – The Enemy of My Enemy Is My Friend OR Bite the Hand That Feeds You

Dean plowed his hands into his hair, grasping at the short strands. Buried deep inside was a frustrated scream and a mouth dry from fear. He’d had to do a bit of quick talking to get away without anyone else. He drove away, heart almost beating out of his chest. Holding on with determination and gritted teeth, he checked into a cheap motel. Once he shut and locked the door he fell to his knees, gasping, choking and fighting back the fear. 

Inside he felt raw and broken. His nerves tingled beyond capacity and his senses twitched with increased sensitivity. Crawling across the original Seventies shag carpeting, almost gagging on the dirt and muck, he wound up at the edge of one of the beds in the room, tears streaming from his eyes, gasping for breath. 

“Croatoan,” Dean croaked.

“Yes,” a soft voice answered. “Croatoan.”

Throwing himself back he drew out his gun and pointed it toward the other bed as he landed. Eyes wide but arms steady, he focused, swallowing down his fear, finding the calm center within. With a deep breath he focused even more clearly on the figure on the bed, his eyes dark.

“Put the gun down, Dean.”

“Nope.”

“You don’t trust me yet.”

“No one trusts you,” Dean replied, eyes and hands still steady. 

She shifted on the bed, crossed her legs into a comfortable position. “Not completely true or completely untrue. But you want answers and I can provide them.”

Dean swallowed and shifted, allowed himself to sit up while still pointing the gun. Moving around, he moved closer to her, but put his back against the side of the bed, drew up his knees, and settled his gun hand. His eyes were bleak and dark.

“Why?”

“Why what, Dean Winchester?”

“So many want answers, why would you give them to me?”

“Tell me what you saw, what you learned, first, and I will.”

Dean swallowed, not sure he could trust himself to speak, much less trust her to respond. He licked dry lips, fighting the tremble in his body. “I saw my future. A bleak one. Fighting, resisting and losing. Losing by inches, by wanting to hope.”

“Keep going,” she urged gently.

He hung his head. “Cas… Cas was fallen and lost. He’d lost his faith and I didn’t think that could happen to him. And, well, and I think he had lost his faith in me.”

“Should he have had faith in you?”

His eyes shot to hers like a laser. “I never thought so but he did. Because you told him to.”

At that she nodded and offered a small smile. “Fair enough. I led Castiel to you. I told him to save you. Beyond that, what you offered was you alone.”

He scoffed at her with a broken laugh. “I’m not anything powerful enough to inspire an angel.”

She smiled at that, her eyes crinkling and her head dipping in amusement. “You always short change yourself. Not just anyone can be the Righteous Man and not anyone scores a personal angel.”

He found the only way he could respond was to blink. His insides were still cold, his heart empty and his soul battered. The gun felt cold and solid in his hand. Real. “I never asked for this. For the world to be on my shoulders. For Cas to fall and become a drug addled, sex addicted, empty shell of himself.”

“What did you ask for?”

Dean shot to his feet and started to pace, gun waving in his hand as if it could emphasize his points. “A normal life. For Sammy to be able to be normal and go to college to be a lawyer. For my life to be free of demons and angels and monsters. You know, normal and shit.”

She rested her chin on her crossed hands, looking young and alluring. “Dean, normal is relative. Your life as you knew it was normal. Maybe the life you saw is also normal.”

“No, it’s not,” he responded vehemently. “Cas is an angel, a loyal one. One of the only ones I have met that deserves to be among the celestial hosts. The other angels are dicks. Cas doesn’t deserve that fate.”

“So you should say yes to Michael, then?”

He found himself shaking his head before she finished the sentence. “No. That isn’t the solution.”

“What you were shown was false then?”

“It’s not that simple,” he protested. “It’s one of several possible outcomes. Every decision leads to other decisions. Like a ripple in some pond or something.”  
“You’re so eloquent with words,” she deadpanned, her eyes alight with mirth. “You believe you can change fate?”

Dean’s eyes narrowed to green laser points and he stopped moving, gun held ready at his thigh. “Fate? God is talking to me about fate? Try free will, sister,” he shot back. “You created it, insisted on it. If that isn’t fate changing than what is?”

Her face and tone were mocking. “Bravo, Dean. You mud monkeys make all the difference.”

He took a predatory step forward, gun pointed and cocked, before he could check himself. Then he chose to keep the stance. “Mud monkeys? Really? The great Creator labels us as beneath the feet of those that trample the earth. You place your beliefs on those that barely have opposable thumbs?”

She uncoiled from her position on the bed, her movements not only graceful but sensual. Heat emanated from her very pores as she moved toward him, slow, cat-like movements that mirrored the animalistic look in her eyes. They were more green now than grey, more like those of a large cat. 

“You think you humans are more?” she purred. “You think you rank higher than the angels, higher than those I created first and not from the dust of the earth?”

Dean raised his chin but made no other move, gun arm steady. “The angels think you put us above them. Hence the issues between us.”

Her brow furrowed. “Why would they think that?”

He opened his mouth and closed it. “Because you gave them that impression. You gave us free will and they are jealous of that.”

She sat down on the bed again and tilted her head. “I don’t understand.”

Sighing deeply he set the gun down on the table at his back and then leaned against it. “Really? It’s been written over and over again. For centuries. You can’t be that oblivious.”

He watched as she contemplated and then stretched her neck in consideration. He’d never seen her quite so baffled. 

“Look—“

She held up her hand. “I have been out of touch for many years. Many years meaning much longer than any human might think.”

“Why?”

Giving a soft laugh, she rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. “Because, Dean Winchester, you have no idea of the magnitude of eons. Forever. To you, to humans, it’s some metaphoric concept. To me, to the angels, it’s real.” She waved an arm in the air. “It’s limitless, unending. Your primitive mind cannot comprehend.”

Smirking, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Maybe not, but I’m all you’ve got to work with.”

“How your bloodline ever got to be the host, I’ll never know.”

“Can it, sister. You have the power to bend the universe. I’m exactly what you need or I wouldn’t be here.”

Her smile grew even as she shook her head. “Winchesters are an ever feisty lot. Loyal, too, but always royal pains in the ass.” She dropped her eyes and ran a hand over her hair. “Actually, you keep me humble. Keep me real.”

“Real? Not that. My lack of faith is well known. You want someone to keep you real, you talk to Cas.”

“Not real in that sense,” she countered. “I mean that in the way you humans use it.” Her hand waved in the air. “That you ground each other in reality. That’s what I gather.”

Dean cleared his throat and slid a hand over his mouth. “You’re saying I’m, like, your conscious?”

“Not a bad analogy.”

He shifted and started to move, his mouth opening and closing with his steps as if he couldn’t find the words to speak his mind. “Dude, God needing a conscious is like scarier than knowing Lucifer is out stalking Sam.”

She turned wide eyes to him. “You don’t believe in checks and balances? Heaven and hell. Pain and joy. Love and hate.”

“Wouldn’t that make Lucifer your check and balance?”

Her smile was small and cold. “You want to leave that in Lucifer’s hands?”

“Not really,” he offered. “But I do know an angel that would fit the bill.”

Sighing, she leaned back again, censure on her face. “And we’re back to Castiel, are we?”

“So all this talk about appreciating the loyal, honest, and steadfast is just talk? Cause from where I stand that makes you a hypocrite.”

Nodding, she sat down at the table he had moved to, waved her hand and a bucket filled with ice and beer appeared. Ignoring his strangled huff she offered him a beer and held it out until he took it and sat down. 

“Castiel’s path is not an easy one. A lesser angel in the eyes of many before he reached you, and now tainted by favor because he did reach you.” She picked at the label on the beer bottle. “No matter what I might want to do, it would affect him in an adverse way. So I have to remain silent, aloof.”

Dean leaned back comfortably in the chair, legs spread, and took a sip of the beer. “You think your silence helps him more than your interference? I call that arrogance.”

Her eyes shot to his. “In what way?”

He threw a half frown and shrugged at her hostile look. “Sometimes what it takes for the righteous to keep going is something outside of themselves. Something that speaks to them. A drop of water can go a long way in the desert. “

“Trying to be a philosopher, Winchester?” she mocked. “You think you know what is needed? Your daddy held out longer in Hell.”

His chin dipped and he met her eyes through the fence of his lashes, a chill in his own. “Yeah. I never said I was the best choice. Often argued against it, actually. But I must have something for all you sons of bitches to keep riding my ass.”

“And that would be it,” she said, eyes brightening. “Passion. You have it. Your father lacked it.” She bit her lip on a smile. “You shine with it, Dean, your soul shines with it.”

Ducking his head, he ground his teeth together to bite back his protest. “Apparently it shines to more than just angels.”

She cocked her head, small smile in place. “Of course it does. Though you are heaven’s beacon, to hide you would be a tragedy. Your soul shines for those that care to look. No matter what.”

“I could rape and pillage like the Vikings and my soul would still shine like a beacon?” he scoffed.

Her laugh was genuine. “Firstly, you could never act that way. Oh yes, you think of it, think of what you did for Alistair, but it’s not the same no matter how you believe it is. So even in Hell your soul shone like a homing beacon.” She closed her eyes, head falling back. “So bright, so pure. It is how he was able to find you.”

“Say I believe you,” he held up a hand, “why would you then punish Castiel for following the beacon? Why can you not reward him with your presence?”

“So loyal,” she breathed. “I do not punish him. My greatest gift is to let him follow his path, make his own choices. And, if he would stop and listen, he could see me through you.”

“Huh? I’m no mirror.”

“Not at all, Dean,” she soothed. “But as I said, your soul burns with a light unlike many others. Basking in that, taking the time to sit still, Castiel could find my grace through you.”

“Isn’t my soul, like, tarnished or something, from the time in Hell? I mean, I know Cas brought me back but I thought I wasn’t completely, you know, normal.” Dean’s concern and confusion were evident in his green eyes. 

“Any person that lives gets scars, Dean,” she explained patiently. “Any soul like yours is bound to hold blemishes. But like scars, those unique blemishes only make parts of your soul shine more brightly.” She ducked her head on a smile she knew Dean wouldn’t want to see. “And even those parts pulsed more brilliantly in Hell. I wish I could show you the contrast.”

“I wish you could too,” Dean muttered, almost too quiet for her to hear.


	7. Chapter 7 – Brother Against Brother

Chapter 7 – Brother Against Brother

Dean had parked the Impala over an hour ago. He fidgeted where he sat in the offshoot waiting for Sam. He found himself tense and on edge, unlike he usually felt. Sam was his brother, his responsibility, and they had parted badly. 

It had been easier when they were younger. Dad left for stretches and Dean laid down the law. Sam, not really knowing any better, followed Dean’s lead. There had been mishaps and near misses but since nothing happened in the end, Dean pushed them to the back of his mind. 

All he could think now, kicking the gravel at his feet as he dug his hands into his pockets, was that this was different. He and Sam were both men now. Men with problems, but still both grown and capable. It was so ingrained in him to take care of Sam that he could barely think of his brother as a grown man, as a true hunter. He knew that Sam was, knew he could rely on Sam, but his inner core struggled with it. Damn John Winchester. 

When his phone rang he jerked and fumbled to get it out of his pocket. He saw the number and sighed before answering. “Yeah,” he drawled.

“You idjits make up yet?”

“Not yet, Bobby. I’m early. He won’t be here for at least another half hour.”

“Hmmm. Stupid.”

“What?”

“Getting there so early that you can stew in your own juices,” Bobby bit back in his way.

Dean swallowed a growl as he paced but didn’t disagree. He has a need to control, to be in control, as much as he can. Knowing it isn’t healthy doesn’t stop the need and only spurs him to find the cracks and loopholes that allow him an advantage and thus the illusion of control. If you believe it strongly enough, it is really an illusion?

“Dean,” Bobby’s gruff voice flowed down the line, not unkindly. “Look, this is Sam. He’s a big girl and we both know it. So let him have his moment and then suck it up so you both can move on.”

He squelched a hysterical laugh, not sure he could manipulate the situation for once. Clearing his throat, he leaned an arm on the Impala, eyes scanning the distance for the approach of an older car. Sammy had been well taught and, if he stole a vehicle to get here, it would be marginally older and slightly muscle in design. His lips twitched at that thought. 

“You thought about what if he doesn’t show?” Bobby asked. 

“Dude, you just totally contradicted yourself,” Dean argued. “He’ll show.”

The older man sighed, eyes out of focus on the text before him. “Yeah, he will. Call me later.”

Bobby hung up and Dean slapped the phone shut, cracking his neck as he leaned his forearms on the roof of the Impala. His bravado was just that. He wasn’t sure Sam would show up. They had been through so much together, they were stronger together, and he finally realized that but also knew it might be too late. 

The crunch of gravel startled him out of his thoughts, mouth twisting in a wry grin that he quickly suppressed. If either of the Winchester boys would typically arrive early it would be Sam and Dean took subdued delight in his younger brother’s pinched expression as he exited the car. Sliding forward toward the cooler of beer at the Impala’s trunk, he twisted the tops off two beers and had one held out to Sam before the younger man’s long legs made it halfway across the distance between them.

They both leaned against the Impala, sort of catty corner, eyes wary and stances tense. They each have their issues, half sure the other is right but not wanting to admit it, and not wanting to be the first one to speak. 

Dean cleared his throat. “Look, Sam. I think we’re better together than apart. Yeah, we have our problems, we’re probably each other Achilles’s heels, but we have to press on together. We need each other.”

Sam nodded finally, long strands of hair sliding silkily over his jaw. “You sure, Dean?”

“Yeah, Sammy, I’m sure. Lucifer wants to wear you to the prom. I’m not letting that happen.”

Sam took a deep swallow of his beer. “So, what, we’re the dynamic duo again?” His tone was faintly mocking but Dean chose to ignore it. 

Giving a Winchester chin nod, Dean slid up to the driver’s side door of the Impala. “As long as you realize I’m Batman, we have no problems, Sammy boy.” 

Sam snorted but tossed the keys into the open driver’s side window of the vehicle he had driven to meet up, hoisted his backpack and moved to the front seat of the Impala. He swung his belongings inside and then stopped to meet Dean’s gaze over the black roof.

“We’re not square, Dean. We still have issues.”

The other brother shrugged. “Sure we do, Sammy. We’re supposed to. It’s what family does.”


End file.
